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[volitaire]

My Lost King

Perhaps

I have not tried to evoke you

For you are no longer

A fantasy

But rather a fact.

You do not live outside

my mind and heart

Rather you are imeshed with them.

You have rooted in the deepest parts

Where the others have simply visited

And I accept your manifest

in my veins

Because I breathed your life

For so, so long.

Many of those

Who I have evoked

Came recently, quickly.

But you are a fixture,

A part of my body,

An appendage of the most acute regret.

I mistreated you

Your scar is my punishment.

I could have been by your side

If I hadn't been so stubborn, blind.

I took your presence

For granted,

And now we are so far apart.

Your whispers lied dormant

Until I was hit

With realization.

And even now

I am weak

To the spectre of your smile,

Your light I could have cultivated

But rather let burn out.

I am so sorry.

[volitaire]

Sandia

I.

You dwell on the horizon

Shrouded by phantoms.

Even in the light of the day

you are a mystery, a mirage.

No one can touch you

For you are silent.

But yet you call to me,

Teasings of grandeur.

Your illusion intrigues

More than the manifest.

And your intrigue intoxicates me.

II.

High upon the earth

You are a silhouette—

Jagged, resolute lines.

 Blue with shadow-sky.

III.

She spins a song of eternity

A low, constant hum

Borne of clay and sand

Composed by time,

 Conducted in duality

By sky and ground,

Her tone is a smooth,

Opaque red-brown spread

Upon a canvas of her people.

IV.

Her rythym flows then ebbs

As you approach,

But builds as you pass.

She is the siren upon the horizon,

Perhaps her faraway melody

Tells her truest story.

[volitaire]

Mother

The fog muffles the days,

Clouds shielding sky.

Rain cries upon our heads

The woes she carries

When will we listen?

[volitaire]

A Guardian’s Woe

There is an untameable compassion,

That no amount of prolonged lies

Can ever explain away.

My love will never diminish.

I long to teach you how to be free,

I want to help you soar

Before he tries to clip your wings.

[volitaire]

Forbidden

I.

I long for glimpses

I thirst for shards

I yearn for glances

Of your true glory.

A fade separates you

From my outreached hand

For you are forbidden

Elusive.

But that means little

to the unquenchable spirit

Locked in my chest.

I will keep reaching

I will keep lusting

I will keep waiting

Until you take my hand

II.

The quiet allure,

Sombre and intense,

It becomes you.

You dwell among the frays

Of a mind unkempt

Until you burst upon the forefront

To pull me down once more.

III.

You are flourishes

Of rich velvet

Cascading freely through air.

You are the embers

Of a fire well-kept,

Logs cracked with warmth

Offering comfort still.

You are a dark bourbon

Filling my chest with phantoms

Of grandeur and passion.

You are the lilted notes of a cello

Timbre deep and pure

With the melody of tenacity and longing.

Your presence fills me to the brim

With the hot rapids of a river long forgotten

Churning, writhing, starving.

And now you drift away,

Unknowing of the epiphany

You wrought.

How I hope you will remember me.

[volitaire]

Muse

I.

In a frenzy you make me

To the darkest places you take me

And I will never give up the chase.

II.

Stay away he said

He knew no better.

But here I am,

A distant slave,

Singing only for you.

III.

Tortured body

Tortured mind

How I wish I could have saved you.

IV.

You dance in the darkness of dawn

Where I dwell in the light of the sun

How I wish you could dance with me,

Where you belong.

But the light could never save you,

Could it?

V.

Illuminated by firelight

Precious child,

You belong to the night.

VI.

Wounded

Beaten

Love was never yours to keep.

 VII.

Your life was a torment

But you remained

A testament.

It makes you strong.

You will never believe

You are worthy

And beautiful and wondrous

I will never be able to tell you.

VIII.

You are a force of nature

Fervent and destructive,

Gorgeous and cruel,

Gone too quickly.

IX.

There are too many miles

Too many years

They keep us rifted.

I would risk everything

You will never know

Because Time keeps us sealed.

X.

My fixation

Distracts me,

A few moments of freedom

A breath sustaining my lungs.

It is not my own.

XI.

You were never meant for this.

You belong to the sea, the fire, the earth.

This life is not meant for you

You feel it in your bones.

No body can keep you

but your daemons.

 You are an entity

A wanderer

Bound to physicality

A slave to carnality, brutality.

 How beautiful you are.

[volitaire]

I have been dead for so long. New poetry coming soon 💖

[volitaire]

Personal Shit

Just. You ever think you have this really solid, deep connection with someone only to find they're completely unavailable in one way or another? You know you could treat them so /right/ but they just... I've been burned so much over the last many months. It's really hard to be confident when no one seems to notice you or have interest. Just. Fuck.

[volitaire]

Ashes

That pit in your chest when you desperately want someone, but time has made it so it's nearly impossible to make it happen. They're soon leaving your life, and you will probably never see them again, and it hurts. You have so many dreams that you want to share with them, but that's not time's will; they'll likely forget your name, your face, by next spring. But you will still yearn to have them. You've accepted the finality of the situation, but it still stings. There's this cold, empty void where the warmth still kindles, where hope still gingerly dances. They'll soon be far away, and soon you'll be even farther.

[volitaire]

697

To be honest, I haven’t been there for years. The last time I took in the familiar sight, the grass was taller than my then ten-year-old body. Dirt and stains plagued the once pristine carpet, laden with tears and burn marks. The place where some of my fondest memories were made, reduced to a wreck; a ‘foreclosure in need of some TLC’. Windows that once shone with innocent hope only reflected somber moonlight.

For a few fleeting moments, I sat in the dirt smear where our couch once was—a place where we spent ecstatic Christmas mornings, lively parties, and grim nights. The room was now cold and empty, where life used to thrive so brilliantly. Dents and holes crept up walls… it was proof family pictures that once hung were catapulted with drunken force.

The night progressed onward and I eventually found myself in the kitchen. Deep scratches were carved in the wooden floor, all the appliances ripped from their former resting places. Easter cookies, warm summer breakfasts, mother’s day brunches, all broken and missing.

Finally, I turned to face the back door, kept open by the previous inspectors. The screen proved missing, probably discarded in a dumpster somewhere, out of spite. An eviction notice taped on the pane of glass stared back at me, the paper stamped FINAL NOTICE in condemning red ink.

Our old swing-set lay amidst the thicket of dead grass, the swings swaying in the idle breeze. Out of all the destruction, the structure proved untouched by its owners. My ankles itched slightly as my feet crunched through the parched grass. Before long, I found myself on the edge of the enclosure, surrounded by tiny pebbles. Thorny weeds grew between the rocks, but I still took my shoes off. Finding a clear spot, I sunk my little toes under the cool surface of the stones until dirt met them. The coolness of the pebbles surrounded my feet, letting it root me to the spot.

And then I just looked.

I studied. I let it all soak in, if only just a little. My—our swing set, faded and rusted, but not destroyed. Beaten and battered, but not broken. I found some sort of peace in the fact as I looked upon the hill we used to sled upon during long, joyful winters.

They were going to pick me up soon, tell me we have to leave… So then I sat. I yanked my feet from the dirt and sat on the swing we once fought over, groaning under my weight. For a moment, I was having a swinging contest with my big brother in the radiant summer light, or making sand castles with my big sister. Everything was carefree, naïve and pure.

But when I came back to reality, no warmth and fondness greeted me, just overgrown grass and cracked siding. I was alone—terribly alone. Everything was too silent and desolate. My sister, my brother… they were gone. My house, my home, long destroyed. Mum’s old strawberry patch, overgrown with dying dandelions. The old koi pond, stagnant and green.

I didn’t want to accept it as my reality. I couldn’t, so looked down at the dead ground below. The patch of mud below the swing was still there and I began to dig my feet in. I dug as far as I could, without truly knowing why; I think I wanted to make people remember, to wonder.

This house… it may have been destroyed, but my affection remained in this atrocious lot. There was stark beauty in the walls full of cracks and chipped drywall. It was there I cherished, I lost, and I survived.

And I didn’t want them to forget.

[volitaire]

The Ambiguous Subjective Pronoun Regarding Someone Particularly Fond

Finally. It's good to be back. It's been been so, very long since I've experienced such a warm flutter of butterflies, the gentle nervousness. The soft hope, undying and determined to persist in the realm of ideal daydreams.

To be filled with joy at the sight of someone's smile, tender and playful eyes; to be absolutely stunned by someone's presence; to be bewildered by someone's sense of humour composure; to be limitlessly giddy over the idea of being in their embrace, held preciously in their arms... It's intoxicating, the lot of it.

I feel like a child again, exchanging shy peeks at the face of someone that belongs to someone which you want to sit up with at night and tell stories of everything pure and light-hearted. To find someone who you want to seek at the end of a trying day, just to bathe in their energy and laugh with.

The idea is less than realistic, but I can't find the propensity to ever extinguish such a breathtaking sensation. It's too whimsical, too exhilarating to ever attempt willing it away.

To sit here in a quiet library as I smile like a complete dork to myself whilst writing this, and to have everyone silently gawk and wonder at the soft blush on my cheeks, the compassion in my eyes. To wish to have the courage and confidence to speak up and tell this very specific person...

What would they say if I told them I wanted to hold their hand, or cuddle under some warm blankets and watch some crappy rom-com and poke fun at the cliché dialogue, or sit in front of a fireplace on a snowy night, singing [slaughtering] the hell out of Disney songs at the top of our lungs, or lie in the damp grass and make our own constellations in the sea of stars above, or to sit down and draw the soft contours of their face in the early afternoon light of a lazy Sunday, or watching the sun rise after staying up all night because we were too busy talking about all of the world's zany possibilities.

Damn it. Damn it all.

[volitaire]

Moksha

Here I am again—crumbling brick walls encased the whole of the garden, ivy creeping through the absent grout. In some spots, you couldn’t even see the wall, but rather an entanglement of thriving vines. The sky, hidden by a dense blanket of soft clouds, was devoid of all birds and life.

I first found myself here as a child, years ago, in the prime of my innocence. Even as the years passed for me, this place never seemed to change. The familiar muggy air, the chipping stone paths—all untouched by the progression of time.

Three shallow, wide steps led into the garden, composed of the same brick that surrounded me. My bare feet danced down each stair, the ground warm and smooth. Here, I found myself pondering life- its beauty and truths… Because here, it seemed to all flow through my mind with deliberate ease where stress and duties faded.

Each swath of life once encased in rotting wood grew far from their pre-set square boundaries. Brightly coloured flowers and twisted ferns all occupied the eastern end of the garden. Every blossom seemed at its peak, even though it’s evident that the sun never shines here.

Amidst the ferns—a pond full of golden koi, feeding off the water’s algae and invisible life. If the sun truly shone here, the pond would have stagnated long ago. I always made me wonder if the sun ever existed here.

The western end of the garden housed a swath of thorny rose bushes, burning a dark crimson. No other life seemed to grow where the massive bush resided… perhaps it was because the other plants don’t want to be pricked.

But in the final corner grew an ancient gingko tree, fanned leaves emerald and proud. Its main trunk grew well over the garden walls, as if in rebellion. Each branch intertwined with stunning intricacy, life emanating from every twig.

Even though it was picturesque and confident whilst fully adorned, I had a feeling its stark beauty would never fade, even when its leaves no longer grew.

Finally, the last feature of the garden hung from the tree. Two ropes, strung around a sturdy branch, suspending a plank of wood. A swing, to put it simply. The ropes too were covered in vines, but now the vines bore delicate white blossoms. Unlike the leafy, ominous nature of those climbing the walls, this ivy proved graceful, free.

Atop the faded wooden board sat a young woman, idly swaying so her feet skimmed the surface of the powdery dirt. Her brunette waves spilled over her shoulders, down her back, and onto her dress. Layers of rosy silk shuffled in the subtle warm breeze, skewing to one knee.

She glanced up at me with a gentle smile green-golden eyes suggesting familiarity, as if she’d been expecting me for a long time. Her skin bore the same ashen colour of the blossoms around her, shimmering in the absent sunlight and giving her an ethereal, celestial aura.

I knew exactly who she was, once upon a time. My weary memory erased her name and purpose as soon as I left the realm last time. Although she never spoke, she would sometimes hum gentle, lively tunes when she didn’t think you were listening… I remember speaking to her last time, or rather I’d talk and she’d listen, eyes cast softly upon the ground. She never looked at me when I spoke to her, but I always somehow knew she was listening.

It’s times like these I wonder whether or not other people have found this place—experienced its liberating nature. Was I the only she’s listened to? I couldn’t find the energy to care, as her eyes observed me. She studied me as if she hadn’t seen me in years, and is finally getting a good look at me. Did she truly remember me? Perhaps she noticed the lack of spark and zeal I once held, how my hair was much longer now—a different colour completely. Nonetheless, I sat beside her swing, making myself comfortable in the dirt.

I stared at the grey sky, taking it all in. This was the garden: my modest residence of freedom, of tranquillity, of perfection… Some people probably call it ‘heaven’ or ‘paradise’ or ‘eden’, but that implied I was either dead or some mightier being made this place.

Something about this little garden told me that it was of no origin. It existed, formed of its own accord. Pure willpower fuelled its existence. And in some void it resided, a serendipitous spot of excellence, of immense beauty. Here I am drawing shapes in the dirt, letting myself get hopelessly lost in the feeling of relaxation and bliss. The silence caressed me, deep in the garden that civilization forgot.

[volitaire]

Confrontation

The air around me was dreadfully cold, encasing me in my icy tomb. The meagre reflection of the moon was discarded in shards about the concrete floor, providing enough illumination to see my feet, but not much more. Perhaps I should have been cold, skin flush against an unfeeling slab of metal, but I was far too nervous to be focusing on something so petty.

I was told this was a thing most of us needed to do someday. I didn't know much about where- or when- I was, but I heard this moment varied from each person that dared tread on this territory. Most people ran away from this moment, instead of facing their fate... I would be lying if I said I wasn't contemplating it myself. In this moment, I felt terribly alone, isolated, exiled... how long am I supposed to wait?

He appears whenever the moment is right, for him at least. I mumbled this to the vacant, empty air, the noise resonating throughout the room. For a room that seemed so small, a rather opposing echo reverberated through my bones. I could hardly measure how long I've been sitting here, occasionally tapping my feet or twiddling my thumbs to pass the time. It could have been hours, days, years... something gave me the feeling that the sun doesn't rise here... ever.

Some people told me I should run away, and bury him underground where no one could hope to scavenge his remains. Some people told me I should be ashamed for even associating with him. Some told me I should burn him until nothing remained. But others told me I should do exactly this... Even though this seemed like the scariest course of action, something told me he would continue to haunt me until I, too ran away....

The air in the room gradually grew more stifling and stagnant with electric nerves and the sensation of sheer boredom. A feeling of tightness and constriction rose in my chest, making it very hard to breathe. I had a sudden urge to run away and wake up, returning to whatever realities may face me when I open my eyes again. I could never give him the satisfaction, albeit tempting. So I sat there, with my deep, persisting breaths as the atmosphere around me permeated sorrow and despair, regret and anger.

That's how I knew he was there. I searched around the smothering shadows for a sign of him, some sort of visual representation to make his physical presence known. Just as doubt began to creep into my mind, the moonbeams reflected something much different- a pair of eyes, piercing and unyielding. I couldn't find myself to make any sort of eye contact with the smouldering icy pools, fixating my eyes on the dull floor.

I knew this was the time I had to face him, lest he vanish and I could never confront him. Slowly, tremulous syllables began streaming from my lips, hopelessness tearing at my mind. Was he even listening? Did he just come to mock me? I tried to convey everything I could, but my mind was a raging mass of disjointed ideas and thoughts, teeming with excruciatingly distracting cognition... I didn't come here just so I could fail... again. This may be my only chance to talk to him.

What would he do? What if he actually listened? What if he was listening? Is he going to lash out at me? Is he going to hurt me? What if he did absolutely nothing? What if he thought this was a joke? No, that can't be... These thoughts and emotions are painfully real. How can I let him know? Maybe this is what he wanted.

I sighed, nearly positive he left by now... But lo and behold, he stood in the corner, dispossessed eyes full of pity and anguish. He stared back at me expectantly, disappointed in my previous charade. A ruddy aura exuded from his silhouette, arms crossed against his chest. Within me, the urge grew to pull my legs to my body, feeling vulnerable in his unwavering gaze.

Don't give him the satisfaction.

After a deep breath or two, the words flowed freely, saturated with the symptoms of his plague. My voice began to strengthen, words louder and more intense. All this suffering and pain he caused me hung in the air, wafting through the darkness for him to hear. The scars were bared, visible for him to see.

I could have talked for days, maybe weeks. And he sat there, my parasitic captive, aura fading to something less ominous and terrifying than it once was. His eyes began to lack its original imposing nature to a form all too human with each sentence. Soon, only a silhouette remained standing before me, until it too faded. The weight once surrounding me dissolved into the nothingness and I rose to my feet.

My legs felt weak and shaky... It was nearly as if I've been sitting for years, confined to this prison, and for once I could walk freely and inhale the fresh air... air deprived from my lungs for years...

The moon no longer hung in the sky, but rather its rosy counterpart birthing from the edge of the horizon... Its brilliance was nearly blinding, illuminating all former shadows. For once, there was zeal and hope and zest in life, as he drifted further and further away from me, free from his chains.

[volitaire]

Epiphany

Tremulous and Timid,

Bashful and Optimistic,

An unwavering flame borne from a persistent spark.

No matter how dim the odds, it endures strife and chaos.

A creation I deemed long dead, bursting suddenly into divine bloom.

This hope found elation in the unbearable, leaving me giddy and breathless.

As if greeting a youthful entity long lost, I sprawled into the reassuring embrace with reckless abandon.

I allowed myself to dream—to speculate the most unlikely of joyous events.

Believing I lost the ability long ago, I found myself painting only grim futures.

But ecstasy burst from the dull canvas and dyed it with vivid spontaneity, with impulsive shadows and haphazard hues.

I, for once, dared to shed my boundaries and sink into the warmth of the unknown; the uncharted.

For once, I found excitement and joy in my future instead of meticulous dread.

I catapulted myself off the edge and found comfort in the subsequent freefall.

The breathless adrenaline seized me and asked me to dream beautiful, absurd dreams.

Dreams that perhaps never would be realised, but dared to be formulated.

Dreams that were childish and unrealistic, but dreams that captivated me so deeply… care was beyond my grasp.

Rationality slipped from my fingers and dispersed, giving way to the tender caress of something wild and reckless.

Analysis and speculation was far behind my sprinting spirit as I allowed my legs to carry me where they pleased.

And I trusted my legs, so what was the point of caring what waited beyond the horizon.

Weightlessness took me as I floated in the tossing sea of wonder and happenstance.

For once, the future seemed resolute and full of hope.

Good things could happen, alongside the garish moments.

Beauty can be found in the unknown, as it can appear equally in fact.

I suddenly found no fear in the things I didn’t know, instead boundless potential and glorious wonder.

I longed to see what the future held, what challenges I can face,

How I shall stumble, and how I may triumph.

I only found dread and anguish in the uncertain, but now I find something exquisite and painfully familiar.

I found hope.

Budding, a new-born hope, once caught in a deep winter.

[volitaire]

Finding Paradise

Paradise- n. a place of extreme beauty, delight, or happiness

Vague silhouettes of bare trees danced past in the comforter of fog, the faded manilla lines our only guide. In the front seat, the woman sang softly the hymns of Christmas time, drumming her shadowed fingers on the worn leather of the wheel before her. Upbeat melodies teased at my unexposed ear, lulling me into contentment. Casually, my eyes took in the views from all peripheral angles and caused me to meet the soft gaze that of the person next to me. This was, of course, only on arbitrary occasion.

The pressures of the outside world faded with each mile driven, each off-key note sung. Some part of me knew that tomorrow would hold stress that I would blow out of proportion later, but an overwhelming shard of me learned not to care at the moment. For the person that mattered most to me in the world sat beside me, a natural repression for all sorrows. The cushion of the headrest behind me cradled the back of my head as I reclined and relaxed my once rigid posture. My tired body sunk further into the seat whilst the music crackled in the stereos, but she sang on, persisting over the static.

In a life of uncertainty and impermanence, I found myself momentarily devoid of all tension. The moment, of course, wouldn't last forever, though somewhere I deeply wished it could. I acknowledged that this voyage would soon be over, and I'd be shoved roughly back into the tides of reality, but I didn't truly care. I knew then, I was in paradise.

Nothing was everlasting and eternal, much like this happiness. But perhaps finding true happiness isn't supposed to be something that was eternal, rather something designed to come in short snippets of elation. Although a teenager myself, I felt that for once in my hectic life, I found true happiness. The source itself was not drawn from fast cars or a fancy house, but rather something much less material. Money could not buy this delight, and I didn't want it to. Instead, the source was from being around the people I loved most while sitting in a dark, cramped car.

The people around me in that moment accepted me for who I was, what I was, what I've been, and what I will be... and that is more than most people can say in this world. I knew I was blessed with this love, despite the betrayal and hatred woven throughout the burlap fabric of my life. Despite everything that has knocked me into the depths of despair, I knew I was exceptionally endowed with love and acceptance, not by my given family, but by my chosen family. This was the family that helped me through depression and guilt, and introduced me to an abstract perspective on the life I led. This family, I knew, loved me.

Some people search their whole lives for love, happiness, and acceptance, desperately trying to seek it in material possessions and deceiving fronts. I hardly knew how serendipitous it was that some insignificant, insecure, imperfect teenager riding down some dusty country road found paradise, albeit fleeting. I was fortunate, and I was grateful for those painfully off-key christmas-carols and the low-quality Japanese pop thrumming in my ears. By then, I realised, paradise isn't a shining ticket to an expensive tropical resort or the even newest pair of shoes, but rather something completely different. It's not something summoned or scavenged for, but something inexplicable, spontaneous, unidentifiable, unfathomable, mysterious, and vast.

[volitaire]

The Keeper

Think of a line of dominoes, all in a perfectly still line. The spacing is perfect, and the ground exactly level. The air buzzing- full of energy, of potential.

Then imagine the single line of dominoes branch off, creating two perfectly straight rows. Then each row branches off, forming two more. Soon, these lines cascade into winding paths, intricate and divinely unique, but all are perfectly still and silent.

Now imagine a hawk, indifferent to time and worldly convictions. It perches atop the field of dominoes, observing its divine stillness with utmost patience and freedom. Its coat of ivory feathers parallel the porcelain of the pawns below, and its sage eyes embrace the tranquillity of the scene.

The space in which this creature and these lines exist is full of wonder, the anticipation of what could be. But: millions of these rows exist, peaceful and perfectly spaced, all divided from another in individual planes of existence.

And for each plane, a guardian hawk watching over the scene.

Out of these billions of little ceramic dominoes, only one line can fall. Only one path can be disturbed, sometime in the future.

Once this serendipitous row tumbles, all remaining valleys of dominoes vanish, new ones instantly being concocted and formulated from the chosen line.

But not a single line has fallen yet. Every domino is still, each hawk waiting, ready to vanish or exist at any given moment. This reality hasn't yet begun. Fields of intricate choices and ideas are formed, preparing for what could be.

This field, this hawk could wait billions of light years, patiently lying dormant and docile until its time of action. It will remain until its destined moment to fall, cease, and reform comes, shaping this complex reality into existence.

This valley has not yet begun, for its assigned Keeper has not yet occurred in time.

But this particular field's time is nearly over. These sets of clay tiles have been silently slumbering for millions of aeon, and its Keeper will soon exist. Its guardian will exist, then fly away before the first tile falls.

Each space, progressively teeming with energy waits and waits until... the flutter of a bird's wings, setting one single domino into tremulous motion. The singular slab, marked with thirteen pips, sways, teeters, hesitates, then catapults forward, setting stunning reality into motion. Millions of dominoes in this set of space disappear and adapt to the unstoppable force of reality, of manifested future, divine past, and breathtaking present.

The Keeper is borne.  

[volitaire]

The Piano

Amongst the rough surface of chipped wood and peeling finish, there was stark beauty. Boxes, never destined to be unpacked stacked atop its lid, nearly overwhelming its subtle presence. Oak pedals, once used to perform grand recitals were now reduced to dull nubs of wood. Deep scratches etched upon its sides told their individual triumphs and failures. A bronze plaque, ridden with rust bore the intricate crest of its origin, glimmering in the dull light. Many ivory keys possessed a yellow tinge or splatters of dirt, some destroyed to the point where the inner-workings of the instrument were revealed.

Through the years at this place I call home, its presence silently comforted and persisted against the atrocities of the world. Dust and grime surrounded its chipped legs, as time passed; it endured tornadoes and tears-- brutal fights and crises. Surrounded by dusty, shattered memories from past lives, the machine proved a memento of the simpler times, the days of ecstatic innocence... how they may have left, but are far from dead. Those times I treasured most may be chipped and cracked, but never truly gone. The memories would continue to exist, no matter what happened. They would always be there, a reminder of sunnier days.

Lastly, the instrument revealed one fact: no beauty is without flaw, yet no object is without beauty. Even when the brilliance has long passed its peak, and the beauty of youth ceases, a new beauty emerges-- a beauty borne of strength and weathered perseverance.

Amidst chaos, peace bloomed.

Through strife and disarray, there remained resolute order.